


To Be Alone

by bossbeth



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, F/F, I swear this was intended to be just good ol' fashioned doin' it, Lena Luthor Doesn't Know Kara Danvers is Supergirl, SuperCorp, karlena, sorry about the angst, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossbeth/pseuds/bossbeth
Summary: When Lena Luthor touches herself, she tries to think of anyone but Supergirl.  And she absolutely cannot think of her best friend Kara Danvers.So of course, she can't help but imagine both at the same time.





	To Be Alone

Lena always tried, desperately, to be a gentleman.

Drawing the tub, she filled it with water as hot as she could stand. She slipped down, neck deep, the line of her jaw just barely above water. The heat seeped into her bones and she began to relax.

A gentleman didn’t drag their friends into something as base as this. So she would always take someone abstract. Barely known. Mysterious.

Maybe the cute barista in the building next door, all lidded eyes and lazy smiles.

Or that engineer with the clever patent and the full lips who had skyped from Saudi Arabia. Those smart, tapered fingers would be fodder enough.

She imagined hands skimming over her skin, closed her eyes, and almost felt the huff of breath at her throat.

Her own hands traced her body under the water - the span of her hips, the slope of her stomach, the slight swell of her breasts.

All too soon, her imagination would shift. Those barely-known faces and voices would warp and move, gone... And in their place would be Supergirl.

It happened every time, no matter hard she tried to be polite. But tonight, in her mind, it was a little different. From behind her, long blonde hair tickled at Lena’s throat. Lips curled into a smile against her shoulder. Hands ghosting over her skin, yes - curious fingers trailed by the catch and pull of the texture of her suit.

At this point, Lena would feel a tangible throb of shame in her chest.

This is foolish, this is classic projection, this is —

Confident hands would slide down her hips, grabbing low on her thighs, digging into her resisting flesh. Not harsh, not cruel - but strong, flexing against her, seeing what Lena could handle.

Lena drew her fingers up and out of the water, stroking her neck, dragging moisture against her lips, letting the pressure of her fingertips pull her mouth open.

God, Lena wanted to kiss her.

When Lena closed her eyes and imagined resistance against her lips, it wasn’t strong and unyielding. There was no testing there. It was tentative, respectful, shy - and hungry.

She imagined kissing Kara Danvers. She imagined Kara, glasses fogging, smile shy, as she pulled away.

“Is that okay?” Kara would ask. Of course she would ask.

It wasn’t okay to think these things, to allow this particular... idyll. It was wrong.

But Lena couldn’t help her answer. “Yes. More.”

And feel Supergirl’s laughter against the back of her neck. “Eager, hmm?”

Kara, blushing, emboldened, would lean forward, catching Lena’s mouth again, more confident now, allowing Lena to part their joined lips with her tongue. And Supergirl would rock against Lena, rock her into Kara, moving them gently, inevitably, together.

“You can touch her.” Supergirl rested her chin on Lena’s shoulder. “She likes to be touched.”

Kara’s fingers were cautious - now here was a gentleman - stroking the length of her bare sternum. Tracing the outer curve of her breasts. Lena couldn’t help but moan.

“I told you.” The Kryptonian’s own touch dipped even lower, pulling Lena’s legs apart and open. “She likes all sorts of contact...”

Kara pulled away from their kiss and watched, transfixed, as she palmed Lena’s breast, fingers kneading, palm pressing against that hardening nipple.

A warm and generous laugh curled around Lena. “She really likes that... Can you hear her breath, Kara? Can you hear her heart hammer?”

Kara looked back into Lena’s eyes, seeking permission. All Lena could do was catch her lip between her teeth and nod.

Kara smiled a crooked smile, a delighted and spoiled gleam in her eye, and ducked her head down low, taking Lena’s breast into her mouth.

Lena could do nothing to stop the moan from tumbling out of her chest, long and low. Kara’s mouth on her, those hands holding her breast in place, the sucking seal of her lips chased by the flat of her tongue...

Lena’s head rolled, and she felt Supergirl smile against her cheek. “That’s it, Lena. Relax.” The alien drew Lena’s legs apart, against her instinct to close them, opening her entirely. “Or don’t relax. In fact, I wonder just how wound-up we can get you?”

Kara’s eye met Lena’s, gentle and sympathetic, but more than anything else, wanting. Lena wiped away a strand of hair that had come loose from Kara’s ponytail, moved her trembling hands to take those sweet glasses off that kind face. Kara blinked as her vision seemed to shift, and then there was nothing between them but open desire.

Again Supergirl bucked and Lena’s core ground against Kara’s thigh. The blonde blushed, so prettily, eyes closing at the feel of just how badly Lena wanted her — wanted them.

Lena grabbed her jaw and pulled her up into a kiss, noses bumping as they came together, seeking the right angle, seeking a deeper push and press of lips and teeth and tongue, the start of a frantic urgency on Lena’s end, receptive eagerness on Kara’s, so helpful, always so helpful —

Supergirl’s voice, behind Lena’s ear, deep and husky. “Keep touching her.”

And Lena felt an arm, draped in that blue, nubby fabric, reach up against her side, grab Kara’s hand, and slide it down Lena’s body, over the curve of her tapered waist, over the round of her leg, sliding down the crease of her hip...

And just like that, Kara Danvers was cupping her.

It was far too much and nowhere near enough, that tentative touch gently stroking the curls at Lena’s center. Embarrassingly wet, she could feel them sticking ever so slightly to the reporter’s fingers. Lena blinked but Kara’s eyes were so wide, so in awe, her lower lip bitten pale. With an excruciating slowness, Kara’s fingers curled.

Supergirl seemed to know. “If you’re too shy to go in, you can always give her a tug.”

And, ever so slowly, Kara opened her fingers, pressed down against Lena’s mound, and then closed again, hair caught between.... And slowly, Kara lifted her hand from Lena’s body.

It was teasing, fucking teasing. Kara’s hand so near her center, Supergirl holding her exposed — it was so goddamn deliberate. Supergirl watching to see what happened, Kara sweet and careful. But Lena didn’t want that, not as tense as she’d grown, it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t ENOUGH —

Lena Luthor wanted to be devoured.

An angry, low groan tore from deep inside her.

Of course they would pull away instantly at the sound, and Kara would dare to ask, “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong -”

It was stupid, to feel yourself withdraw when two of the most important people in your life had their hands on your body. But Lena’s throat felt tight and all the words she wanted to say seemed so far away.

It was wrong.

It was so easy to imagine Kara’s hurt, confused expression.

She broke from her fantasy abruptly, huffing a note of frustration as she pulled slick fingers away from her center, feeling the contrast of her arousal on her fingertips, even under water.

Her voice echoed in the empty room. “You fucking selfish bitch.”

She slid down into the tub, letting her head submerge fully, feeling the pressure of the water muffle all sound, forcing her eyes and mouth closed, keeping her still. She held her breath until her lungs burned, then exhaled slowly, listening to the sound of the bubbles as they burst on the surface of the water. She waited until her body pulsed with the need for air, and let herself up with a bolt, chest heaving, breathing in giant, uneven gasps.

Supergirl was one thing. A strong, public figure? Lena couldn’t be the only person to diddle themselves in their private time to the thought of those arms. For all the times she’d been there for Lena, she was still, essentially, a stranger, and fair game.

Kara Danvers... was not. Kara was her friend. Her best friend. Her foundation.

And the thought barged in: Kara didn’t ask for this, these thoughts, this behavior. She didn’t fucking opt in. The way Lena feels, this draw, this desire... This wasn’t a relationship. It was a one-sided use. She was using her best friend. To get off.

The water was tepid, with visible flecks of skin and hair fouling the space around her. Any arousal she may have felt was gone, replaced with a roiling nausea.

Kara didn’t consent to this.

Lena rose from the tub with shaking limbs, from the cold, yes, but mostly from the thought that she was capable of this violation. This wasn’t the first time she had done this. And she was weak enough, lonely enough, to know it wasn’t the last time, either.

Using people for her own ends. Maybe she was a Luthor after all.

She gripped the toilet with wet hands, hair heavy and damp enough that it stuck to her back as she vomited what little she had in her stomach. She stayed kneeling for a long moment, waiting for the worst of the sensation to pass, and felt a deliberate blankness take its place.

Her damp knees clung to her bath mat as she rose, moved to the sink, rinsed her mouth. 

She scrubbed her face clean. Brushed her teeth. Dried her hair. Combed it, styled it. Then her face. Her foundation. Her makeup. She evened out the splotchiness of her pale skin until there was just that strong facade, bold brows and dark lips and her green, empty eyes.

It was Sunday, but she called to have her car prepared as she dressed. She sat in the driver’s seat for a long time, staring at her knuckles where they gripped the wheel, before she reached for the dashboard console.

“Open contacts. Kara Danvers.”

For a moment, Kara’s contact card appeared - her name in clean sans serif, her portrait photo a goofy selfie she’d sent Lena when they first became friends.

Lena stared at her friend’s sweet, silly face as she dictated a text.

“Have to cancel lunch. Work came up. Rain check?”

She shut down her phone as soon as she was sure the message had been sent and accelerated a little too fast through the city.

The security guard at her office wasn’t surprised to see her. He never was, no matter the day or time she showed up. He understood.

Their roles were clear. 

She gave him a thin-lipped smile and made her way through the lobby, and up and up and up into the building.

Her office always wanted her. She could work until she forgot her flesh. Here, she was just her mind. And there was always work to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> My thesis for this was "how hot would it be if Lena Luthor imagined both of them," and then angst bulldozed right into it. So someone please just write about the pure fantasy of that threeway, thanks so much.
> 
> Endless thanks to fmpdx and PoppyCartinelli for the beta read!


End file.
